


Give and Take

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s03e14 Tao of Rodney, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is his, he realizes with a jolt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give and Take

Rodney's lab is always a disaster, the visible remains of a funnel-cloud of thoughts and theories, but this is worse. John leans against the door jamb and watches as Rodney scurries from one white-board to the next, frustration readable in the frantic jerk of his body, the way his hands shake as they cross out this or rewrite that, circling a lone scrawled equation that might still be okay.

"McKay."

"I'll get it," he snaps, harsh with what could be self-doubt, or maybe just self-disappointment, two things Rodney very rarely allows himself to consider. They fit him badly, highlighting the bags that circle blood-shot eyes and skin smudged with sweat and ink and the lingering touch of fear. "I'll figure it out."

"So what if you don't?"

That gets Rodney to stop, whirling around so he can pour all that self-agony out on a willingly illuminated target. "This is _historic_ , Colonel, this is going to revolutionize everything we do. This will -- this will -- "

"Make us as smart as the Asguard?" John's pretty sure he does guileless better than anybody in Rodney's life. Okay, maybe it's not genuine guilelessness, but whatever it is, it's so damned effective that Elizabeth's jokingly asked for a lesson or three, muttering about bits and reins.

Rodney _hmphs_ , as prim as any maiden aunt. "Please. They aren't _that_ much smarter than us now. Or at least not that much smarter than _me."_

It's telling that Rodney admits they are smarter, even in this oddly superior method. John pushes away from the door to stand below one of the white-boards, peering at it with interest. He knows he can't read any of it; if Rodney can't, there's no one in this whole galaxy who could give it a go. But looking always freaks Rodney out because there's a chance that John's going to show those flashes of insight and understanding that both of them have come to depend on. "Hm," he says.

"Oh, what, like you can _possibly_ understand that!"

John twists, intending to grin -- but whatever's on his face, it's not amusement, not the way Rodney loses the mania and softens into something more wistful, pensive and almost depressed as he slumps down in the chair he's taken. "McKay," he starts.

"I, um. I should probably apologize."

It's so far out of left field that it's from a ball park in another _state_. John tenses his hands behind his back, lips pressing together in tight discomfort. "What are you talking about? I told you, we're -- "

"Good, yes, I know." Rodney waves the words away, easily picking up the slack when John balks. 

When the hell had he gotten so good at that, anyway? John's predictable, sure, even he can figure out that certain things make him go awkward and uncertain, like he's fifteen again, more elbows and knees than anything else and afraid of the words that circle around in his brain, worried sound is going to give them a life he can't possibly control. But Rodney McKay isn't supposed to be the one to finish his sentences and give him absolution with a weary sigh. "So what exactly are you apologizing for, then?"

Rodney doesn't look at him, lost in unfocused memories. "I shouldn't have asked you to, well, do what I did. My arrangements. I should have gone to Elizabeth."

It's kindly meant, John knows, Rodney trying to pick up the pieces of his life that're even more scattered, more fractured with this newest twist.

It makes John so angry that he's got Rodney up against the wall, his own body thrumming with anger that fizzes on his upper lip, sparks flying furious in front of his eyes, before he realizes it. A half second and he drops his hold, pushing himself back a shaky few steps so Rodney has at least the pretense of personal space.

It's not much, really. He can still feel the heat of Rodney's body, blasting hotter than any furnace.

"Could you not be an ass for five minutes?" he snaps, trying to get his breathing under control. What the hell is it about Rodney that keeps him so damned off guard? No one makes him as _much_ as Rodney does, whatever that 'much' might be. Angry, happy, frustrated -- doesn't matter. With Rodney, it's always palpable under his skin, meter pushed up higher than anybody has ever forced it before.

Hell, not even Lisa had gotten under his skin this badly!

Rodney's glaring at him, pointedly rubbing his shoulders -- but he doesn't move from where he's been pushed. "I shouldn't have done that," he repeats. "I'm not military, which means you aren't responsible for, uh. For that kind of thing."

"So why didn't you?" His skin prickles like he's going to start sweating any second, body so full of adrenaline it aches. "Why not leave instructions in that damned book of yours?"

That earns him a quizzical look and John knows it's a misstep, but Rodney shrugs and leans back fully against the wall, spine as loose as John's has ever been. It looks wrong on Rodney, but right, too. Like for once he's finally relaxed. "I don't know why I didn't. I should have. So I'm sorry I -- "

"You say that again, McKay, and I'm going to punch you." The anger is starting to scare him it's so strong, pulling him along a tilt-a-whirl as the room shrinks and expands around him in sick pulses. He has no idea _why_ he's angry, just that --

This is his, he realizes with a jolt. Rodney can give others apologies and painfully awkward attempts to show understanding and respect. John doesn't want that. He doesn't need that, because he _knows_ he has Rodney's respect, knows that he's got Rodney's trust, that he's got _Rodney_. That's why he'd felt sick enough to find a bathroom the moment Carson wheeled Rodney down the hall, bile stinging his throat while he tried to crack that painfully awkward joke, Rodney pale and barely lucid he was so damned scared.

"Have you eaten?" he asks abruptly. The anger's draining away, swirling in circles he can feel as it sinks through his body to vanish out from his feet.

Rodney blinks at him, clearly troubled by John's abrupt change in temperament. "Are you manic depressive? This is not something I've ever thought about you, despite what I am positive are _myriad_ different mental issues you suffer from, because normally you have no emotion at all let alone swinging between them so quickly that I'm starting to fear for my life."

"I'll take that as a no," John decodes. Clapping Rodney on his shoulder never, ever stops being amusing because Rodney always flinches -- and then _always_ looks proud, a little kid who's dad tells him he did a good job. "C'mon, I've got some left overs at my quarters."

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, the siren call of food still lures Rodney off of the wall, taking a step forward like he can't help himself. The Pied Piper doesn't need a lilting tune to get Rodney to follow him, just the promise of tasty treats. "And you're going to share it with me because... ?"

"Because if not, you'll stay here the way you did _last_ night?" Guileless, again, and it works the way it always does: Rodney rolls his eyes and huffs about mentally deficient Colonel's, and when they walk his shoulders brush a little too close to John's.

"I did not stay there all night yesterday."

"Three hours spent kidnapped by Beckett don't count."

"The man offered me a _sedative_ , like there's something wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me!" Said at a shrill, painfully high register, it lacks a lot in the way of sincerity.

John claps him on the shoulder and smirks at Ronon, who vanishes down the hallway, good deed done for the day. "Uh huh," he drawls, not that Ronon needs someone to cover his retreat. "You keep telling yourself that, buddy."


End file.
